In those days, when coaches only ran on the great high roads, and postal
arrangements were imperfect, even important news was conveyed at what
would now be considered a very slow rate.
Adam knew no one in London to whom he could write about the little girl
he had saved from the wreck, and many days passed before he could get to
Morbury, the nearest town to Hurlston. It was a place of some
importance, boasting of its mayor and corporation, its town-hall and
gaol, its large parish church, and its broad high street.
Adam first sought out the mayor, to whom he narrated his story. That
important dignitary promised to do all in his power through his
correspondents in London to discover the little girl's friends, but
warned him that, as during war time the difficulties of communication
with foreign countries were so great, he must not entertain much hope of
success. "However, you can in the meantime relieve yourself of the care
of the child by sending her to the workhouse, or if you choose to take
care of her, her friends, when they are found, will undoubtedly repay
you, though I warn you they are very likely, after all, not to be
discovered," he added.
"Send the little maiden to the workhouse!" he exclaimed, as, quitting
Mr Barber's mansion, he pressed his hat down on his head; "no, no, no;
and as to being repaid by her friends, if it was not for her sake, I
only hope they may never be found."
The lawyer, Mr Shallard, on whom Adam next called, had the character of
being an honest man, and having for many years been Sir Reginald
Castleton's adviser, he was universally looked up to and trusted by all
classes, except by these litigants who were conscious of the badness of
their causes.
He was a tall, thin man, of middle age, with a pleasant expression of
countenance. He listened with attention to Adam's account of his
rescuing the little girl, but gave him no greater expectation of
discovering her friends than had the mayor.
"You will, I suspect, run a great risk of losing your reward," he
observed; "but if you are unwilling to bear the expense of her
maintenance, bring her here, and I will see what can be done for her.
Of course, legally, you are entitled to send the foundling to the
workhouse."
"You wouldn't advise me to do that, I'm thinking," said Adam.
"No, my friend, but it is my duty to tell you what you have the right to
do," answered the lawyer.
"Well, sir, I'd blush to call myself a man if I did," replied the
fisherman, and without boasting of his intentions, he added that he and
his dame were quite prepared to bring up the little girl like a daughter
of their own.
When Adam offered the usual fee, the lawyer motioned him to put it into
his pocket.
"Friend Halliburt, you are doing your duty to the little foundling, and
I will do mine. If her friends can be found, I daresay I shall be
repaid, and at all events, when you come to Morbury again you must call
and let me know how she thrives."
Adam, greatly relieved at feeling that, having done what he could
towards finding the child's friends, there was great probability that
she would be left with him and his wife, returned home.
"Any chance of hearing of our little maiden's friends?" asked the dame,
on Adam's return.
"None that I can see, mother," he answered, taking his usual seat in his
arm-chair. "As it seems clear that they are in foreign lands, those I
have spoken to say, now that war has broken out again, it will be a hard
matter to get news of them."
"Well, well, you have done your duty, Adam, and you can do no more,"
answered his wife, looking much relieved. "If it is God's will that the
little girl should remain with us, we will do our best to take care of
her, that we will."
"What do you think, though?" he continued, after he had given an account
of his first visit; "Mr Mayor advises us to send her to the workhouse.
It made my heart swell up a bit when he said so, I can tell ye."
"Sure it would, Adam," exclaimed the dame; "little dear, to think on't."
"Mr Shallard said something of the same sort too, but he showed that he
has a kind heart, for he told me to bring the child to him if we didn't
want to have charge of her, and when I offered his fee he wouldn't even
look at it."
"Good, good!" exclaimed the dame; "I've no doubt he'd act kindly by her,
but I wouldn't wish to give her up to him if I could help it. It's not
every one who would have refused to take his fee, and it's more, at all
events, than old Lawyer Goul would have done, who used to live when I
was a girl where Mr Shallard does now. There never was a man like him
for scraping money together by fair means or foul. And yet it all went
somehow or other, and there was not enough left when he died to bury
him, and his poor heart-broken, crazy wife was left without house or
home, and went away wandering through the country no one knew where.
Some said she had cast herself into the sea and was drowned; but others,
I mind, declared they had seen her after that as wild and witless as
ever. Hers was a hard fate whatever it might have been, for her husband
hadn't a friend in the world, no more had she; and when she went mad
there was no one to look after her."
Then Dame Halliburt told a tale, interrupted by many questions by the
good Adam, of which this is the substance.
Lawyer Goul had a son, and though he and his wife agreed in nothing
else, they did in loving and in spoiling that unhappy lad. He caused
the ruin of his father, who denied him nothing he wanted. Old Goul
wouldn't put his hand in his pocket for a sixpence to buy a loaf of
bread for a neighbour's family who might be starving, but he would give
hundreds or thousands to supply young Martin's extravagance. He wanted
to make a gentleman of his son, and thought money would do it. His son
thought so too, and took good care to spend his father's ill-gotten
gains. As he grew up he became as audacious and bold a young ruffian as
could well be met with. He had always a fancy for the sea, and used
often to be away for weeks and months together over to France or Holland
in company with smugglers and other lawless fellows, so it was said, and
it was suspected that he was mixed up with them, and had spent not a
little of his father's money in smuggling ventures which brought no
profit. Old Martin Goul had wished to give his son a good education,
and had sent him to the very same school to which the sons of Dame
Halliburt's master, Mr Herbert Castleton, went. There were two of
them, Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph. Mr Herbert was Sir Reginald
Castleton's younger brother. He was a proud man, as all the Castletons
were, and hot-tempered, and not what one may call wise. He was
sometimes over-indulgent to his children, and sometimes very harsh if
they offended him. For some cause or other Mr Ranald, the eldest, was
not a favourite of his, though many liked him the best. He was generous
and open-hearted, but then, to be sure, he was as hot-tempered and
obstinate as his father. While he was at college it was said he fell in
love with a young girl who had no money, and was in point of family not
a proper match for a Castleton. Some one informed his father, who
threatened to disown him if he married her. He could not keep him out
of Texford, for he was Sir Reginald's heir after himself. This fact
enraged him still more against his son, as he thus had not the full
power he would have liked to exercise over him. When Mr Herbert
married, his wife brought him a good fortune, which was settled on their
children, and that he could not touch either. They had, besides their
two sons, a daughter, Miss Ellen Castleton, a pretty dark-eyed young
lady. She was good-tempered and kind to all about her, but not as
sensible and discreet as she should have been.
When Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph left school young Martin Goul, whose
character was not so well known then as it was afterwards, came to the
house to pay them a visit. As they had been playmates for some years,
and he dressed well and rode a fine horse, they seemed to forget that he
was old Martin Goul's son, and treated him like one of themselves. To
my mind, continued the dame, nothing belonging to old Goul was fit to
associate with Mr Castleton's sons. Once having got a footing in the
house, he used to come pretty often, sometimes even when the young
gentlemen were away from home, and it soon became known to every one
except Mr and Mrs Castleton that Lawyer Goul's son was making love to
Miss Ellen. She, poor dear, knew nothing of the world, and thought if
he was fit to be a companion of her brothers, it was no harm to give her
heart to him. She could see none of his faults, and fancied him a
brave, fine young fellow, and he could, besides, be as soft as butter
when he chose, and was as great a hypocrite as his father. He knew it
would not do to be seen too often at the house, or Mr and Mrs
Castleton would have been suspecting something, and so he persuaded Miss
Ellen to come out and meet him in the park, and she fancied that no one
knew of it. This went on for some time till Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph
came home from college. One evening, as Mr Ranald was returning from a
ride on horseback, and had taken a short cut across the park, he found
his sister and Martin Goul walking together in the wood. Now one might
have supposed that if the account of his own love affair was true he
would have had some fellow-feeling for his sister and old schoolmate,
and not thought she was doing anything very wrong after all, but that
wasn't his idea in the least. Without more ado he laid his whip on
Martin's shoulders, and ordered him off the grounds, much as he would a
poacher. Martin, the strongest of the two by far, would have knocked
him down if Miss Ellen had not interfered and begged Martin to go away,
declaring that if fault there was it was entirely hers. Martin did go,
swearing that he would have the satisfaction one gentleman had a right
to demand from another. Mr Ranald laughed at him scornfully, and,
taking Miss Ellen's arm, led her back to the house.
Mr Ranald was not on the terms, as I have said, which he should have
been with his father or even with his mother, so he said nothing to
them, but taking the matter into his own hands, told his sister to go to
her room and remain there. She, as I said, was a gentle-spirited girl,
and did as she was bid, only sitting down and crying and wringing her
hands at the thoughts of what might come of what she had done. Poor
dear young lady, she told me all about it afterwards, and I thought her
heart would break; and I was not far wrong, as it turned out at last.
Now, though Mr Ranald and Mr Ralph were not on affectionate terms as
brothers should be, and were seldom together, they were quite at one in
this matter. Mr Ralph was by far the more clever, and had gained all
sorts of honours at college we heard; so that Mr Ranald looked up to
him when there was anything of importance to be done, and took his
opinion when he wouldn't have listened to any one else.
The brothers were closeted a long time together talking the matter over,
as they thought very seriously of it, and considered that the honour of
the family was at stake. They then got their sister to come to them,
and tried to make her promise never to see young Martin Goul again; but
notwithstanding all they could say, gentle as she was in most things,
she would not say that. They warned her that the consequences would be
serious to all concerned.
Martin Goul was as good as his word. He got another young fellow who
passed for a gentleman, something like himself, to carry a challenge to
Mr Ranald. The young fellow did not like to come into the house, so he
waylaid Mr Ranald near the entrance of the park, and delivered a letter
he had brought from Martin Goul. Mr Ranald, as soon as he found from
whom it came, tore it up, and throwing it in the messenger's face, so
belaboured him with his whip, that he drove him out of the park faster
than he had come into it.
Mr Ralph had, however, in the manner he was accustomed to manage
things, taken steps to get Martin Goul out of the way. The last war
between England and France had just begun; the pressgang were busy along
the coast obtaining men for the navy. Mr Ralph happened to know the
officer in command of a gang who had the night before come to Morbury.
He told him, what was the truth, that young Martin was a seafaring man,
and mixed up with a band of smugglers, and he hinted to the officer that
he would be doing good service to the place, and to honest people
generally, if he could get hold of the young fellow and send him away to
sea. Martin was seized the same night, and before he could send any
message home to say what had happened, he was carried to a man-of-war's
boat lying in the little harbour of Morbury, ready to receive any
prisoners who might be taken. He was put on board a cutter with several
others who had been captured in the place, and not giving him time to
send even a letter on shore, she sailed away for the Thames, and he was
at once sent on board a man-of-war on the point of sailing for a foreign
station. Miss Ellen, when she heard what had happened, was more
downcast and sad than before, and those who knew the secret of her
sorrow saw that she was dying of a broken heart.
Poor Mrs Castleton had been long in delicate health, and soon after
this she caught a chill, and in a short time died. Miss Ellen was left
more than ever alone. From the day she last saw her worthless lover she
never went into society, and seldom, indeed, except at church, was seen
outside the park-gates.
Mr Castleton himself had become somewhat of an invalid, which made his
temper even worse than before. He showed it especially whenever Mr
Ranald was at home, and I am afraid that Mr Ralph often made matters
worse instead of trying to mend them.
At last Mr Ranald left home altogether, for as he had come into a part
of his mother's property, he was independent of his father. Some time
afterwards a letter was received from him saying that he had sailed for
the Indies. Whether or not he had married the young lady spoken of at
college was not known to a certainty.
As may be supposed, old Martin Goul and his poor witless wife were in a
sad taking when they found that their son had been carried off by a
pressgang. Old Goul vowed vengeance against those who had managed to
have his son spirited away. His own days, however, were coming to a
close. He found out the ship on board which young Martin had sailed,
and he tried every means to send after him to get him back. That was no
easy matter, however; indeed, the money which he had scraped together
and cheated out of many a lone widow and friendless orphan had come to
an end. No one knew how it had gone, except, perhaps, his son. He
himself even, it was said, could not tell, though he spent his days and
nights poring over books and papers, trying to find out, till he became
almost as crazy as his wife. No one went to consult him on law
business, except, perhaps, some smuggler or other knave who could get no
decent lawyer to undertake his case, and then old Goul was sure to lose
it, so that even the rogues at last would not trust him.
He and his wife had had for long only one servant in the house. A poor
friendless creature was old Nan. One day the tax-gatherer called when
Martin Goul, who was seated in his dusty room which had not been cleaned
out for years, told him that Nan had the money to pay, and that he would
find her in the kitchen. He went downstairs and there, sure enough, was
poor Nan stretched out on the floor. She had died of starvation, there
was no doubt about that, for there was not a crust of bread in the
kitchen, nor a bit of coal to light a fire. How Martin Goul had managed
to live it was hard to say, except that his wife had been seen stealing
out at dusk, and it was supposed that she had managed to pick up food
for herself and her husband.
Meantime it was known that young Martin had been aboard the _Resistance_
frigate, which had gone away out to the East Indies. At last news came
home that the _Resistance_ had been blown up far away from any help in
the Indian seas, and that every soul on board had perished or been
killed by savages when they got on shore.
Mr Ralph tried to keep what had happened from the ears of his sister,
but she was always making inquiries about the ships on foreign stations.
At last one day she heard what it would have been better she had never
known. We found her in a dead faint. She was brought to, but the
colour had left her cheeks and lips, and she never again lifted up her
head. Mr Ralph came to see her.
"It was all your doing," she said to him in a reproachful tone. "He
might have been wild, he might have been what you say he was, but he
promised me that he would reform and be all I could wish."
"Of whom do you speak, Ellen," asked Mr Ralph.
"Of him who now lies dead beneath the waters of the Indian Ocean, of
Martin Goul," she said, and uttered a cry which went to our hearts.
"That scoundrel's name is unfit to come out of your lips, Ellen," he
answered with an oath. "He met a better fate than he deserved, for he
died with honest men. Now put him away from your thoughts altogether,
and never defile your lips by speaking of him."
Poor Miss Ellen made no reply. Nothing would induce her to leave her
room. She grew weaker and weaker, and soon was laid beside her mother
in the family vault.
A few months afterwards Mr Castleton died, and the place was sold. Mr
Ralph, who had become a barrister, went away to live in London and
married, and has been there ever since.
The death of his son was known to many others before Lawyer Goul heard
of it, for it was no one's business to tell him, and few would have been
willing to do so. At last, one day in an old newspaper which contained
an account of the loss of the _Resistance_, his eye fell on the
announcement. He let the paper drop, sank back in his chair, and never
spoke again. His crazy wife took it up, and she, seeing what had
happened to her son, not even stopping to learn whether her husband was
dead or not, or trying to assist him, rushed away no one knew where.
"Some say," said Dame Halliburt, as she finished her long story, "that
she has long since been dead, and others that she is `Mad Sal,' as the
boys call her; but she does not look to me like old Goul's wife; and I
cannot fancy that one brought up as a sort of lady, as she was, could
live the life that poor mad woman does, all alone in a wretched hovel by
herself among the cliffs, without a neighbour or a soul to help her."
"Well, it's a sad story, wife; I wonder you never told it me before."
"To say the truth, Adam, it's not a matter I ever liked talking about,
and I don't know scarcely what made me tell it you now. It's not that I
care about Lawyer Goul and his crazy wife and their son; but even now I
cannot bear to think of poor Miss Ellen. It was a sad thing that a
sweet innocent creature like her should have been cut off in her young
days."